Autumn 1945
by highlandgypsy
Summary: When Major Greg Boyington presumed dead after being shot down over Rabaul, Kate Cameron, the AP war correspondent assigned to VMF 214, must deal with his loss, as well as another life-changing event. This is the ending for Front Page News. It takes place approximately three months after the current chapter (Ch. 27) of Front Page News.
1. Chapter 1

When Major Greg Boyington is shot down over Rabaul and presumed dead, Kate Cameron, the AP war correspondent assigned to VMF 214, must deal with his loss, as well as another life-changing event. This is the ending for Front Page News. It takes place approximately three months after the current chapter (Ch. 27) of FPN. I'm writing it separately because at this point, I don't want to say FPN is finished. While I'd like to think Autumn 1945 could stand on its own, it's probably safer to say if you haven't read FPN, you won't understand half of what is happening here.

As usual, I'm playing fast and loose with history and have twisted time and truth to suit my own selfish needs. I take full responsibility for any inaccuracies, which were probably intentional. And I certainly don't own any of the characters from Baa Baa Black Sheep or Back Sheep Squadron.

 **XXX**

 **Chapter 1: Gone**

 **Jan. 3, 1944: Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

She was radiant.

Major Greg Boyington wasn't sure when that had started but he'd noticed it during the last few weeks. She'd always sparkled with an aura of joie de vivre but this was something more. A few things had crossed his mind when they were together the night before but neither of them had been in the mood for conversation.

Even now, as she sat at the side of the room, sipping coffee and taking notes before the mission briefing, she stood out amidst the squadron's sea of flight suits and testosterone. She was wearing a US Marine Corps-issue T-shirt and cut-off fatigues that highlighted her curves in a way he was sure the Corps had never intended.

Her sun-streaked hair was braided over one shoulder, curls already escaping to frame her face in the humidity of the tropical dawn. Her cheeks were brushed with soft color and there was an undefinable something about her that morning that made her even more vibrant than usual. She simply glowed.

Those spectacular legs were crossed demurely at the ankles, like she was wearing a tailored Fifth Avenue suit and sitting in a press briefing at the West Wing. She looked up from her notebook as if she could feel his eyes on her. A smile quirked the corners of her mouth and from the sparkle in her eye, he was pretty sure he knew what she was thinking. They weren't demure thoughts.

Damnit. She was incredible on so many different levels.

He wrenched his mind back to the day's mission, yet another in a string of fighter sweeps over Rabaul.

"All right you meatheads, listen up . . ."

 **XXX**

Kate Cameron was ecstatic.

And stunned. And a little scared. But mostly ecstatic.

The 22-year-old Associated Press war correspondent had never encountered anything like this before in her life.

The source of her joy was nothing she'd ever stopped to think about – although in highsight, maybe she should have thought about it a little more - and the realization was staggering in its implications. She had to tell him and it couldn't wait much longer. It was going to change a lot of things and he had to know.

She hadn't told him because she hadn't been sure. Once she _was_ sure, she'd been in denial for a while – a confusing tangle of emotion that had left her, for the first time in recent memory, totally unsure of what to do.

She wondered if he already knew.

He was so intimately familiar with her body now, he had to have noticed the changes. Last night she thought his fingers had lingered on her breasts, teasing her agonizingly sensitive nipples to new heights of pleasure. He'd rested his hand ever so briefly on her lower belly, over the slight swelling that was imperceptible to anyone but her, before sliding it lower. She hadn't said anything because God knew that was the last thing she wanted him thinking about when he got in that plane this morning.

There hadn't been time for words last night, anyway, just the hot demand of their bodies, his mouth crushed over hers to keep her from crying out at the explosion of their mutual release. Making love in an open sided tent on a front area Marine fighter base was risky business, even after dark, but that seemed to be the trademark of their relationship. Nothing was conventional where he was concerned. She'd known it from the first time she set eyes on him, six months ago, but when he picked her up out of the mud that night, she never thought it would come to this.

She had no idea when or how she was going to tell him.

 **XXX**

Kate walked to the flight line with the squadron like she'd done nearly every day for the last six months, camera around her neck, exchanging greetings and jokes with the pilots.

Captain Jim Gutterman slung an arm around her shoulders.

"You look lovely this mornin', darlin'," he said. "I think the water here agrees with you."

"Only if it's mixed with Scotch," she said airily.

Greg came up on her other side and slipped an arm around her waist.

"Sweetheart, how do you manage to look so good in the morning?"

"Must be the company," she said, averting her eyes as she dodged a mud puddle. "God knows it's not the food. Or the luxury accommodations."

Jim snorted.

"More like the sleeping accommodations."

"Shut up, Gutterman," Kate said, but her voice held no heat. She was so used to the pilots' ribald teasing by now it rolled right off her. There were no secrets at 214. Well, maybe one or two.

Up and down the flight line, engines were coughing and smoking as cylinders caught. Pilots and mechanics yelled back and forth, making last minute adjustments in preparation for the morning's mission.

"Try to stay out of the way, Cameron," Greg said, peeling off as they reached his bird. He swatted her lightly on the ass.

"You know I'm not good at that." She returned his grin. It was an old joke, one they'd shared for months. She knew he meant it. He knew she did, too.

He turned to her, early rays of sun highlighting his face. It was the picture of him she always carried in her mind - dark hair tumbling over his forehead, eyes hot blue, a half-vexed, half-laughing look on his face as he tried to talk her into something they both knew she wasn't going to do.

"Then at least stay out of trouble until I get back."

"I'll be waiting."

He vaulted into the cockpit.

"Clear!"

Hutch pulled the wheel chocks free as the Corsair's powerful engine roared to life and the massive 13-foot-diameter prop kicked up a cloud of dust. With a final thumbs up, Greg swung the plane off the line and taxied toward the strip.

Kate headed back toward the base. God help her, she was going to have to tell him soon.

 **XXX**

Four hours later, Jim led what was left of the Black Sheep home. They went on radio silence once they entered La Cava airspace.

"I'll tell her when we land," he said, his voice tight. "The rest of you keep your traps shut."

Kate was waiting with Hutch as the squadron returned, both of them counting planes.

They were four short.

"Jim?" She walked out to meet him, concern written on her face, eyes searching the empty sky over his shoulder.

"Greg was shot down over Rabaul Harbor," Jim said with brutal bluntness. His eyes were dark with pain. "We were outnumbered, worse than usual. He radioed he'd been hit but none of us saw it. There was so much smoke. Visibility was horrible. We think he jumped clear – Anderson thought he saw a chute. They got Ashmun, too, and Flynn and Carson." He choked back emotion. "I am so sorry, Kate."

"No," she whispered. A cold hand of fear crawled up her spine and squeezed her heart with icy fingers. "No."

Jim wrapped his arms around her. She stumbled against him and felt his face pressing against the top of her head. This wasn't happening. Greg couldn't just not come back. She fought the hot tears burning against her eyelids. The earth was falling out from under her feet. Dizziness and nausea swept over her and she fought to regain her balance. She bit her lip hard, letting the pain ground her, and swallowed.

She'd known this could happen, known it from the first time the words "I love you" had passed her lips but it was something she kept locked firmly in the back of her mind. If she didn't think about it, it couldn't happen.

Only it had.

"What happens now?" she asked, wiping her face and pushing back from Jim.

"We wait."

 **XXX**

 **Jan. 6, 1944: Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

They waited. No word came. The War Department and the Marine Corps hit dead ends with their inquiries. The Japanese denied any knowledge of Greg's existence. They would neither confirm nor deny picking up downed pilots at those coordinates. The area where he'd gone down was deep in enemy waters and there was no chance of an American search and rescue team going in. Colonel Lard said Greg and the other three men they lost that morning were officially listed as missing in action and assured the Black Sheep that the U.S. would continue to do everything possible to secure their whereabouts.

Which translated to more waiting.

On the evening of the third day, Jim went to Kate's tent. She was sitting on the floor, lost in thought, Meatball on her lap. The dog had moved in with her, as if sharing a mutual loss. She'd been pale but dry-eyed since that morning on the flight line when he'd told her the news. Her rigid self-control was almost frightening, as if she were protecting something beyond herself.

"Casey got Lard on the horn. They've changed his status to missing, presumed dead," Jim said quietly.

"I deal in facts, not presumption. That's the first thing they teach you in journalism school." Kate's tone was defiant. "I want hard proof before I'll believe it."

It gnawed at Jim's guts to say it but he wouldn't string her along with false hope. She was strong enough to hear it and she needed to hear it so she could move on.

"He's gone, Katie. He ain't comin' back."

 **XXX**

On the fourth day, she and Jim packed up Greg's things. There wasn't a lot when it came to worldly possessions in a war zone. Uniforms, flight suits, fatigues. His shaving kit and typewriter. Boxing gloves. A few pictures - the photo Kate had taken on her first day on La Cava, the one of Greg, Jim and TJ walking away from the camera. The shot Anderson had taken of him and Kate on the flight line, capturing the raw emotion between them the morning after they spent the night on the beach.

"I'll take those," she said quietly.

They worked in silence, each drifting in their own loss and uncertainty. The Black Sheep would be disbanded soon, Jim told her. After losing four planes over Rabaul and a handful of others barely making it home, they couldn't get 15 planes in the air no matter what magic Hutch worked. They couldn't make combat status and in spite of Jim stepping up to hold the squadron together, Lard wouldn't miss the opportunity to take them down. The war was shifting. It was rumored La Cava would be evacuated by the end of the month. The nurses said they were already starting to evac the hospital, moving patients and personnel to the larger Navy hospital at Espritos.

Kate picked up a shirt, lifted it to her face and inhaled. The scent of him brought tears and she blinked them away. He was alive. Somewhere. She knew it.

When they were done, Jim uncorked the bottle sitting on the now barren desk. He poured into the two glasses sitting nearby, handed one to Kate.

"To Black Sheep One."

"To Black Sheep One," she echoed, touching her glass to Jim's. She set it down without drinking.

"You all right?" Jim looked at her closely. "I've never seen you turn down a drink."

Unconsciously, Kate dropped a hand to her lower belly. It was a quick gesture, almost a random swipe of her fingers across her trousers but Jim caught it, saw the soft, introspective look that passed across her face.

"I guess I'm not thirsty," she said, looking away.

"Katie?" His voice was low. "Are you . . . ?"

Kate met his eyes. She knew what he meant. "Yes." She'd never figured Jim for the sensitive, observant type. Maybe the time he'd been spending with her sister, Sarah, was good for him.

"Did Greg know?"

"I hadn't told him yet." She held the crumpled shirt close to her chest. "But I think he knew."

Neither of them spoke for a long while. Then Jim said, "That would have made him happy, Kate. He told me once he wanted to have a family. . . after . . . the war and everything."

"Well, he's going to have one," Kate said. Her voice was velvet over steel. "And when the war and everything is done with all of us, I'll be waiting for him."

 **XXX**

 **Jan. 8, 1944: Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Navy Lieutenant Dee Ryan folded a pair of trousers and put them down on Kate's bunk. She'd taken the afternoon off from her nursing duties at the hospital on the other end of La Cava to help her friend pack up the disaster area of a tent she'd called home for the last six months.

The fighter base was in chaos. The 214 hadn't flown a mission since losing Major Boyington and three other pilots five days ago. The men were on edge, caught between grief and the uncertainty of their own futures.

One of Kate's trunks sat with the lid open, the interior a jumble of clothing, notebooks and miscellany. Dee picked up a shirt and shook it out before rolling it neatly and tucking it next to the trousers. Nearby, Kate was packing camera gear. She secured a lens in a leather case and snapped the strap closed.

"Will the Associated Press reassign you somewhere in the South Pacific or will you go back to Europe?" Dee asked. She knew Greg was now listed as presumed dead and with the future of the squadron in jeopardy, Kate's assignment here was done. "Maybe you could be stationed on Rendova, with Sarah. That would –"

Kate turned to her friend. Her face was a mix of joy and loss.

"Dee, I'm pregnant."

Dee froze. She put down the shirt she'd been folding. Her eyes went automatically to Kate's slender waistline.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"How sure?"

"About two months sure."

"You couldn't just be late?"

"Yeah. Two months late, maybe longer. I sat down with a calendar and did the math. And this morning I had to run out of the mess to barf. No one thought anything about it, since TJ was right behind me, doing the same thing. Everyone just thought it was the eggs. Only he was hung over and I'm, well . . . ." She left the sentence unfinished as she settled the lens case into an equipment trunk.

"What are you going to do?"

Kate looked up, a spark of her old humor dancing in her eyes.

"You're the nurse - I think that would be fairly obvious. In about seven months I'm going to have a baby."

"Are you going home?" Dee abandoned any pretense of folding clothes. Most of Kate's clothes looked like they'd been through a war anyway and did not seem to merit any delicate treatment.

"Are you kidding? To Ethel and Clarence?" Kate named her strict Lutheran aunt and uncle who had bought her parents' farm after their death. "If I showed up on their doorstep pregnant and unmarried, they'd lock me in the attic." She lowered the lid on the trunk and flipped the latches closed. Her smile faded and she swallowed hard.

"I'm resigning from the Associated Press. I can't . . . I can't do this anymore." Her voice caught. She began slowly unpinning prints from a board over her desk. Dee could see some of them – Kate with the Black Sheep, their arms around each other's shoulders, Kate as sweaty and disheveled as the rest of the men. Kate with Greg, their smiles a matched set of trouble, Meatball sitting between them. "Don cabled his father and he offered me a position in the newsroom at his paper in Philly. I'll work there until the baby comes."

"Does he know about the baby? Mr. French, I mean."

"Yeah. I told Don. I thought his father needed to know before, well, surprise! Jim knows, too. He and Don are the only ones I've told. Jim kinda figured it out on his own. Oh, hell, the rest of the boys probably know by now. You know how well keeping secrets works around this place." She laughed wryly.

Don had discreetly told his father Kate would only be able to work for about six months before needing a leave of absence. His father assured him that wouldn't be a problem. He was more than willing to help the girl whose writing had provided a lifeline of support to his son's squadron at a critical time.

"Oh Katie." Dee pulled her friend into a hug. "I can't imagine you with a baby. What can I do to help?"

Kate hugged her back. Then holding her at arm's length, she said firmly, "That makes two of us. What I know about babies doesn't go much beyond what it takes to make one and apparently we both should have given that a little more thought. What I _need_ is for the military to find out what happened to Greg. Either he's a POW or he's . . . gone." She couldn't bring herself to say the word dead. "I need to know either way." She paced restlessly. "I need get settled in the states before this baby comes. I don't know if you can help me with any of that."

Dee shook her head.

"Probably not."

"Some friend you are," Kate said, but she was smiling. She sat down on her bunk. "He's alive, Dee. I know he's alive. This - " she rested her hand on her stomach "- we never planned this but now that it's happened, I'm glad. And we'll just wait until his daddy comes back." Kate bit her lower lip. Her voice trembled. "Because I don't know what else to do."

 **XXX**

 **Jan. 11, 1944: Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

None of the Black Sheep were surprised when Colonel Lard disbanded 214. The war was shifting. The base on La Cava was being abandoned. The hospital was already empty, the nurses and patients moved to Espritos.

Jim and TJ both took assignments with VMF 149, the Fighting Gryphons, on Rendova. At least Jim would be near Sarah, who was stationed there orchestrating the use of military working dogs in the area, Kate thought. Casey accepted an administrative post in General Moore's office on Espritos. French was transferred to Henderson Field at Guadalcanal to serve as a flight instructor. The rest of the Black Sheep went into the pilot's pool where they would be reassigned as needed.

The last few days with the squadron were a chaotic whirlwind of packing and preparation. And waiting. There was still no news about Greg. Lard had stopped taking Casey's calls. Even General Moore was unable to provide any information. Missing, presumed dead, was the only thing anyone would say. Kate's angry frustration grew, subduing her grief as if her body couldn't handle both emotions at the same time.

Casey finessed some paperwork to list her as Greg's beneficiary.

"It's what he'd want," he said, blowing on the ink to dry the forged signature.

Kate hugged him. The men's support had been immeasurable in the last week. They loved her like a sister and knew her loss might have been even more devastating than theirs. If they knew about the baby, they didn't mention it. She smiled at the irony. When they'd found out she was sleeping with Greg, it had been no-holds-barred when it came to teasing both of them. Apparently she'd finally found a topic they considered off limits. Babies. Who knew? At least she'd managed to get through breakfast that morning without having to bolt out the door to barf.

"Thank you," she said, wiping her eyes. "But I won't need his benefits. He's coming back."

"I hope so, Katie," Casey said. "If anyone could survive, it would be Pappy."

 **XXX**

 **Jan. 12, 1944: Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Kate left Vella La Cava much like she'd arrived, dressed to the nines and not having a clue what her future might hold. The squadron gathered to see her off. They'd been like brothers to her for the last six months and she knew she'd never see most of them again.

They gave her addresses and phone numbers scrawled on bits of paper, names of loved ones in the States who would be delighted to help her with anything she needed.

"We want you to take Meatball," Casey said, pressing the dog's leash into her hand. "None of us can keep him now. We decided he should go with you."

Kate looked down at the bull terrier. Casey had taken it upon himself to give the dog a bath and he was in an unusual state of sparkling whiteness. Meatball thumped his tail in the dirt and eyed her neatly tailored suit, which was borrowed, like all the rest of her clothes.

"Don't you even think about jumping on me," Kate said. "If we're going back to civilian life, you're going to need better manners."

Jim hugged her tightly.

"I'll write as soon as I hear anything," he said. "With Casey in Moore's office and me still in the theater, we'll keep the pressure on the brass."

"He's alive, Jim. I know he's alive and he'll come back." Her eyes were full of conviction. It had become her mantra. The alternative was unthinkable. Jim kissed her on the forehead.

"I hope you're right, Katie. If you need anything, if I can do anything for you, just let me know."

"Keep in touch. I mean it. Write to me. Tell Sarah I'm sorry I had to leave without talking to her." Kate was brimming with frustration but her sister had been out with patrols and unreachable every time Kate had tried to contact her. She couldn't wait any longer. She'd take a flight from Espritos to Pearl Harbor that afternoon, then back to the States.

"Do you want me to tell her about . . . you know?" Jim lowered his eyes briefly to her midsection.

"Yes," Kate said. "Please. I want her to know and she needs to hear it firsthand, not in a letter. Tell her I'll write as soon as I'm settled. Here. Give her this for me, the next time you see her." She stretched up on her toes and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "You can translate it any way you like." She smiled. "I know you will."

"Take care of yourself, darlin," Jim said. "And the . . . um . . . little lamb, too."

Kate smiled. Honestly. The men weren't shy when it came to discussing their conquests with nurses but she'd found in the last few days that any mention of pregnancy or babies made them distinctly nervous. She was in complete sympathy. It made her nervous too.

She turned and walked up the steps onto the plane, Meatball trotting at her side. On board, she settled herself on the narrow seat. The dog sprawled by her feet.

"We're in a damned airplane again," she muttered. "When we get back to the states, I'm never getting in another damned airplane again."

Jim watched her go, noticed the defiant set of her shoulders, the stiffness of her spine. If anyone could keep Greg alive through sheer force of will, he thought, it would be her.

 **XXX**

 **January 12, 1944: Espritos Marcos, Rear Area Allied Command**

"Sir, there's a K.C. Cameron to see you," Margaret announced. Colonel Thomas Lard looked up, surprised.

"Cameron? What's he want? Two-fourteen is done, I'm surprised he's still around. Very well. Send him in."

"Yes, sir." The dark-haired secretary hesitated in the doorway. "Um, sir?"

"Yes, Margaret, what is it?"

His secretary paused, a puzzled look on her face.

"Nothing, sir. I'll send Cameron in."

Lard was intent on the reports on his desk when the sound of heels clicked briskly into his office. He wondered what Margaret wanted now. The whole base was in upheaval, what with evacuating La Cava and the other general mayhem in the theater, and his secretary was positively distracted these days. The door closed with a decisive click. Lard looked up, did a double take.

The girl standing in front of him wasn't Margaret. She was wearing a smartly tailored civilian jacket over a crisp white blouse and slim skirt. The insignia on her left arm marked her as a member of the press corps. A stylish hat perched atop a mass of unruly curls. She had spectacular legs. With a jolt of recognition, he stuttered, "Lieutenant Halvorson?"

The girl stepped forward. She snapped a business card down on his desk blotter.

"K.C. Cameron, Associated Press. I'll be leaving the Solomons shortly, Colonel, and I thought we should finally meet." She extended her hand.

Lard gaped. He rose slowly and shook the proffered hand.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Miss . . . Cameron."

"There's nothing not to understand," Kate said. "I'm Katherine Christine Cameron. I've spent the last six months embedded with the Black Sheep. I'm sure you've read my coverage."

Lard was speechless. There was no way this creature could have lived with Boyington and his band of pirates for 24 hours, let alone six months. He stared, then opened his mouth and finally managed to produce words.

"Do you mean to say you've been living on La Cava with the Black Sheep since June without me knowing?"

"Yes, sir. And you knew I was there because you assigned me." She smiled. The effect was staggering although he saw a carefully guarded shadow of pain in her eyes. "Since I never got a chance to say hello when I got here, it seems only right that I say good-bye. I'm taking a flight to Pearl at 1300, headed back to the states."

"But when I met . . . how did . . . why . . .?" Lard gulped and got his feet under him. "Young lady, do you know how many rules you've broken? Fraternization between the sexes, impersonating a Naval officer, interfering with –"

"I believe you assigned me to live on the base with the squadron," she interrupted, her face guileless.

"I didn't know you were . . . were a woman," Lard spluttered.

"That hardly matters now, Colonel. I think it's clear I followed my orders as they were issued. I gave the Black Sheep six months of press coverage and told their stories to the folks back home. Wasn't that the idea in the first place? None of them had a problem with it."

Lard stared at her incredulously. He just bet the Black Sheep hadn't had a problem with it. He was starting to see exactly how this slip of a girl had lived with them for that long. He thought back to the times he'd met her in the officer's club on Espritos, when she was wearing a Navy lieutenant's uniform. And the night he'd encountered her in Boyington's room, when she'd been wearing considerably less of that uniform. She was just as bad as they were.

"Before I leave, I need your word that you're doing everything possible to find Greg." She swallowed. "Major Boyington."

"I can assure you, Miss Cameron, the United States government is doing everything within its power to locate Major Boyington," Lard said. His tone was meant to be placating. Kate wasn't buying it.

"Then they need to work at it harder." Her words were clipped. "Surely someone out there knows something. Men don't just vanish." She pulled a typewritten sheet of paper from her handbag and handed it to him.

"Here's my contact information in the States. I'll be at a privately owned paper in Philadelphia. My sister is Sergeant Sarah Cameron, stationed with the 37th Infantry on Rendova. Captain James Gutterman is also on Rendova with VMF 149 and Lieutenant Larry Casey is in General Moore's office right here on this base. They will all be in regular contact with me. I can be reached directly at the phone number and mailing address listed here. I want to know as soon as you find out anything, Colonel. Do I make myself clear?"

Lard was not used to being addressed in such a tone by a civilian, let alone a woman.

"Very." His face had a pinched look.

"Good. I have a plane to catch." She turned to the door.

"Miss Cameron," Lard said, "is there any particular reason you are so interested in Boyington's whereabouts? After all, your assignment here is done. I'm sure you're ready to move on."

Kate turned. She moved with the lethal grace of a hunting cat.

"Because in seven months, he's going to be a father." Her hazel gray eyes were cool.

Lard couldn't hide his jolt of surprise. It was the last thing he'd expected to hear from this forthright young woman.

"A father?" He repeated.

"Yes, Colonel. It happens." One side of her mouth quirked up in a smile. She didn't look in the least bit repentant.

Lard made a last ditch attempt at gaining control of the conversation.

"You do understand that when a pilot's been missing as long as he has, the odds of finding him alive are –"

Kate rounded on him in a fury, her smile replaced by a look of steely resolve. Lard was glad there was a very solid desk between the two of them.

"Never tell me the odds!" she snapped, biting off each word. Before he could reply, she turned and strode out of his office.

Lard wiped a hand over his face. She had left in exactly the same manner he'd watched Boyington storm out of this same office time after time. Good lord but the two of them had been made for each other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Waiting**

 **January 18, 1944: Philadelphia, PA**

Kate's return to civilian life was awkward.

After six months on the fighter base, Philadelphia felt like another planet. Not having to rely on generators for electricity was a luxury. Pressurized hot water was an insanely guilty pleasure. Fresh food, reliable refrigeration and indoor plumbing were almost overwhelming. A bed with a mattress and box springs, in a house with walls that didn't let the rain blow in, felt decadent.

She would have traded it all in a heartbeat to be back on La Cava with Greg.

At Harold and Caroline French's insistence, Kate moved into a guest room of their spacious home in an upscale part of town. It was a warm, welcoming home just a short commute by auto to the offices of the Philadelphia Enquirer, where she joined the staff as a reporter and photographer.

When Kate protested she couldn't impose on them, the Frenches put their feet down. She would stay with them until the baby arrived and that was that.

"Your stories did so much for Don and the boys," Harold said. "This is the least we can do. We don't expect you to stay with us forever but let us help you until the baby comes."

And until she found out if Greg was alive or dead. Those words went unspoken. No one talked about it. There was nothing to talk about. Missing, presumed dead, meant exactly that and the War Department was not going to spend resources looking for dead men.

If Harold and Caroline were scandalized by Kate's unwed and pregnant status, they kept it to themselves. Caroline and Helen, Don's 18-year-old sister, took her shopping and helped her rebuild her wardrobe. This was no small undertaking since she had virtually nothing decent to wear beyond the suit she'd borrowed from Laura for the trip home.

While Helen assured Kate she looked wonderfully stylish, Kate missed the days of working in trousers and boots. Things were even more complicated by the fact that clothing of any style would soon have to be replaced by maternity wear. She put the trunk with everything from her assignment on La Cava in a corner of her borrowed bedroom and left the lid closed.

Caroline made an appointment for her with an obstetrician. The doctor assured Kate she was the picture of maternal health and calculated a mid-August delivery date. If he noticed her lack of a wedding ring, he said nothing. Since she'd quit vomiting at the sight of food in the morning, Kate admitted she felt wonderful. Pregnancy agreed with her. This wasn't a path she would have deliberately chosen but knowing Greg's child was part of her tempered the searing pain of his loss. Tempered. Not relieved.

In spite of the nonstop bustle of living and working in the city, it was harder to let go of the Black Sheep than she had expected. She didn't really try. In quiet moments she could still hear the roar of the Corsairs lifting off on a dawn mission or feel the heat of a tropical evening wrapping around her like a caress.

Greg was in her dreams constantly. She desperately missed the quiet intensity of his presence, the joy of sharing the day with him, the way he could make her feel like they were alone together even when they were in the middle of a rowdy group in the Sheep Pen. She often woke, reaching for him in the darkness, the ache in her heart a physical thing that left her pillow damp with tears. She saw his smile when she closed her eyes, heard his voice as if she were encased in a bubble of memories while the world swirled around her.

She explored Philadelphia, threw herself into her photography, was grateful for the Frenches' hospitality and enjoyed Helen's friendship. Don's little sister was a freshman at a local private college, studying journalism, and Kate was happy to answer her endless questions about her experiences as a war correspondent. Helen and her parents were eager to hear stories about life on the base and Kate shared those freely, too, although she was careful to edit them. If Harold and Caroline heard about some of Don's and the other Black Sheep's wilder antics, it wasn't going to be on her watch. Meatball made friends with Petra, the family Pomeranian, and the two of them made an unlikely duo, cavorting around the house and grounds.

Kate voraciously read reports from other news services but after living it firsthand, she found their coverage of the South Pacific vague and frustrating. The war there was grinding on but she was no longer a part of it.

When the baby kicked for the first time, Kate was helping Helen edit a story she'd written for a summer school reporting class. She jolted upright in her chair, eyes wide at the sudden sensation.

"Are you all right?" Helen asked.

The baby kicked again.

"I'm fine," Kate said, dazed. "He's real. And he's already got a good right hook."

 **XXX**

 _ **August 1944: Somewhere in Japan**_

 _He didn't know where she was, but the thought of her kept him alive._

 _Through the interrogations, the deprivation, the mind-numbing uncertainty of not knowing what his captors planned to do with him, thinking about her kept him from going out of his mind._

 _The way she looked that last morning, joking with him and the other men on the flight line. The soft glow of her face. The look she gave him when he told her to stay out of the way._

" _I'll be waiting for you," she'd said._

 _It gave him something to live for. To see her again. And the baby._

 **XXX**

 **Seven months later: August 15, 1944, Philadelphia**

"Son of a bitch!" Kate said through clenched teeth. "I remember exactly how this got started and let me tell you, _that_ part was a lot more fun. Promise me you and Jim are using -" She broke off and clamped down on Sarah's hand as the contraction seized her.

Sarah blushed furiously. Kate let out her breath as the pain eased. She fell back against the pillows of the hospital bed and pinned her sister with a stare. Sarah had been granted a brief hardship leave and had traveled back to the States to be with Kate when she delivered. It was the first time the sisters had seen each other since Kate left the Solomons in January.

"If you _are_ sleeping with Gutterman, I hope at least one of you is being responsible and I'd guess it needs to be you."

The attending nurse shot them a horrified glance.

"You're a fine one to talk," Sarah hissed. "Maybe you should have taken a page out of your own book."

"Don't be a smart ass. I thought you were here for comfort and support," Kate growled. She studied her sister, whose face was still warm with color.

"You _are_ sleeping with him, aren't you? When did that –" She grimaced at the next contraction. "Oh bloody fucking _hell_! This needs to get over. Damnit, Boyington, where are you! You're responsible for this!"

Sarah gripped Kate's hand and decided not to point out that her sister shared an equal responsibility for her current condition. For that matter, she decided it was probably best to ignore most of what Kate was going to say in the foreseeable future. The doctor's attempts to evict her from the delivery room had failed. Kate had a fit when he told her to leave.

"She didn't fly 5,000 miles to sit in a waiting room and read month-old newspapers while I have all the fun," Kate snapped.

"Really, it's better if you don't argue with her," Sarah said. "Trust me. Besides, she's trying to make an example out of herself. I'm the little sister who's supposed to learn a lesson from this."

The doctor didn't argue. He knew the baby's father had been lost in the war and Sarah was the only family Kate had. He decided certain delivery room protocols could be overlooked, especially since the younger of the two sisters was in full U.S. Army uniform. It didn't look like arguing with her would be a wise idea either.

Later that evening, 7 pound, 12 ounce Elizabeth Joyce Boyington made her entrance into the world, squalling furiously at the indignity of it all. Kate had an awful time choosing a name for the baby.

"If you'd been a boy, this would have been a lot easier," she informed her. Elizabeth Joyce did not seem repentant. Kate hadn't cared one way or the other. She was delighted that the baby was here, finally, with 10 fingers and 10 toes and a healthy set of lungs.

She finally settled on Elizabeth because it was Sarah's middle name and Joyce because it was their mother's name. It seemed like a very big name for a very small baby and Kate called her Joy, in memory of everything she and Greg had shared.

"She looks just like you, Kate," Sarah breathed in the quiet of the private room the Frenches had insisted on paying for. "She's perfect."

"She doesn't look anything like me," Kate said, studying the small pink-wrapped bundle in her arms. "She has dark hair and blue eyes." She smiled in spite of her exhaustion. "She's got Greg stamped all over her."

"She's got your look." Sarah touched the baby's tiny fingers. "That 'don't mess with me because it won't end well for you' look."

"Funny, I thought that was Greg's look," Kate said.

"You two have more in common than you realize." Sarah was always careful never to use the past tense when she talked about him.

"Sair," Kate said quietly, using Sarah's childhood nickname, "I mean it, be careful, you and Jim. Greg and I weren't . . . all the time . . . obviously . . . and well . . ." Her voice trailed off. "I wouldn't change anything now but so help me, if I get a letter from you telling me you're pregnant I will get back on a damned airplane and come down there and –"

Sarah cut her off, looking half-embarrassed, half-defiant.

"Don't worry about me and Jim. You've got your hands full here now."

"I'm your big sister. I will always worry about you. Especially if you're sleeping with Jim!" Kate broke into a smile. "I think there's a lot you've been leaving out of your letters."

Sarah just grinned at her.

"How much time have you got?"

Little Elizabeth Joyce found this discussion supremely boring and fell asleep in her mother's arms.

 **XXX**

 **Autumn 1944: Philadelphia**

Kate took time off from the newspaper after Joy's arrival. She learned to change diapers, to heat bottles and that infants were not the fragile, spun-glass creatures she'd always thought they were. Joy was a good natured baby, yowling only when she felt something was seriously amiss in her world and easily appeased by cuddling and restoration of creature comforts. Meatball was fascinated by her, sleeping by her crib and running to Kate's side in obvious agitation any time she fussed.

"You silly, womanizing dog," Kate told him, sitting on the floor with Joy in her lap. The terrier nuzzled Joy on the cheek and the little girl smiled toothlessly and waved her hands. Kate thought she was the most absolutely darling baby she'd ever encountered although her experience with babies was admittedly limited.

Sarah had kissed her sister and niece good-bye and gone back to the war. Before leaving, she'd updated Kate on as many of the Black Sheep as she could. Don was still a flight instructor at Henderson Field. Casey had apparently found his calling as General Moore's assistant and to hear Sarah tell it, he was single-handedly running the base on Espritos as well as a thriving black market trade in everything from silk stockings to Scotch. General Moore found these skills extremely beneficial and pretended not to notice what was happening under his very nose.

Jim was a squadron leader on Rendova, where he and TJ were flying with the Fighting Gryphons. TJ had four enemy kills now and hadn't shot down any American planes since leaving the Black Sheep.

The other boys had been scattered to the winds. Action in the theater was still hot, and the United States was slowly gaining the upper hand on the Japanese. Sarah assured Kate that she, Casey and Jim were still doing all they could to keep pressure on Lard and Moore to find answers about Greg.

Shortly before Christmas, Casey wrote to say General Moore had heard rumors that a Japanese sub picked up the downed pilots that day near Rabaul. Kate knew verifying rumors was like trying to grasp smoke, but it was the first news she'd heard in nearly a year. The flame in her heart burned a little brighter.

 **January 3, 1945: Philadelphia**

The one-year anniversary of Greg's disappearance passed unnoticed by anyone but her. That evening, after the house had settled for the night and Joy was asleep in her crib, Kate opened her trunk and took out the thick stacks of photos from her time with the Black Sheep. She looked at them slowly, remembering, laughing and choking back tears.

Helen heard her muffled sobs and knocked gently on the door. When Kate said, "Come in," Helen joined her on the floor. This time, Kate didn't censor the stories. She told Helen about the night the boys put a rat in her bed, the time Greg had taken her up in his plane, about Don making ace and his party and how she'd woken up in Greg's bed the next morning. Figuring the younger girl probably understood where babies came from by now, Kate gave her a mildly edited version of the night they spent on the beach. Helen's pretty brown eyes had gone wide.

"That's so romantic," she'd said, then added, "Do Mummy and Daddy know about this?"

"No!" Kate pretended to be horrified. "And don't you even think about telling them!"

"Only if you promise to tell me more about all the boys," Helen said. Her smile reminded Kate so much of Don she couldn't refuse.

 **XXX**

Casey, Sarah, Dee and Jim stayed true to their promises to write. Their letters came randomly, tossed by the winds of war. They were all still in the Solomons. Casey had asked Dee to marry him and she'd said yes. They agreed to wait until the war ended. Dee had been offered a transfer to the Naval hospital at Pearl Harbor, which Casey encouraged her to take even though they would be separated, telling her she would be safer there.

Sarah's letters said Raider's reputation as a scout dog was growing and if he kept it up, he'd probably be invited to the White House for a medal ceremony after the war. She also mentioned she'd won the Marines versus Army poker tournament on Rendova, besting Jim in the final round. Afterward, Jim had suggested several ways she could help his ego recover.

Jim said there was no further word about Greg but he had done a fly-by over Lard's office the last time he was on Espritos just so the colonel didn't forget about him. He said he missed playing poker with Kate because apparently she was the only Cameron he could beat.

Don even wrote a couple of times and jokingly threatened retribution if Kate told his little sister even half of what the Black Sheep had done. Kate added a post script to one of Helen's letters to her brother. It said, " _Too late. Helen knows all and will blackmail you for the rest of your life. KC"_

The Frenches found a local girl to work as a nanny when Kate returned to the Enquirer. It was a comfortable arrangement. Kate enjoyed her work and spent every spare moment with little Joy, but she knew this couldn't go on. She could not live on Harold and Caroline's charity for the rest of her life. Whatever the future held for her, she and the baby needed to go find it on their own.

One snowy evening in late January, Harold approached her before dinner. He handed her a thick magazine.

"Blood Horse?" Kate was familiar with the publication. It followed the Thoroughbred racing industry across North America and Europe.

"The editor and I go way back. He saw the piece you did on the city's mounted police and asked if I thought you'd consider coming to work for him in Kentucky. He says it's apparent you know one end of a horse from the other. I'd hate to lose you, Katie, but it might be a good move for you."

Kate shifted Joy to her other shoulder. Five months old now, the baby was a warm, sleepy lump. A very heavy, warm, sleepy lump. No one had told her how fast babies grew. Some days it seemed the child was changing before her eyes.

"What part of Kentucky?" It would be nice to get out of the city, Kate thought, even though it would mean her fifth major move in three years. Starting when she was 20, she'd moved from her home in North Dakota to California to be near Sarah, then to Europe and the United Kingdom where she served with the Associated Press, which had led her to the South Pacific and then back to Pennsylvania. Relatively speaking, moving to Kentucky would be like walking across the street. Moving didn't bother her. She didn't seem to be happy unless she was living like a gypsy.

"Edward Mills, that's the editor, has an elderly aunt, Coretha Harris, whose family owns a horse farm south of Lexington. Some breeding, some racing, but they specialize in taking Thoroughbreds off the track and turning them into –" Harold, who barely knew one end of a horse from the other, waved a hand dismissively, "whattaya call 'ems, riding horses, to re-sell. Old Miss Harris says you can live in the groundskeeper's cottage on the estate at no charge if you'll do some riding for them, nothing too demanding, just helping with the horses they're re-training. Don said you'd done some riding at a track at California?"

Kate nodded. She wondered how Harold managed to classify controlling 1,000 pounds of bone and muscle that was used to approaching life at a tearing gallop as "nothing too demanding." She hadn't ridden since leaving England. It would be wonderful to be around horses again. It would be wonderful to raise Joy in the country.

"Old Miss Harris lives in the main house," Harold went on. "Her son and his wife, William and Audrey Harris, live there, too. They have a son, Daniel, who's your age and is serving somewhere in the South Pacific."

Somewhere in the South Pacific. Kate winced inwardly. She looked at Joy.

"Whattaya think, little lamb? Shall we go to Kentucky?"

The baby broke into a smile at her mother's voice. She regarded Kate with sleepy blue eyes. A dimple creased her right cheek.

Kate felt her heart turn over. She looked at Howard.

"Tell me more," she said.

 **XXX**

 **March 1945: Main House, White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

The mantle clock ticked as flames crackled in the hearth. Outside, a spring storm sent rain pounding against the windows of the old house. Kate had spent most of a chilly afternoon outdoors, riding horses with William Harris. It was wonderful to be back in the saddle, although after a year out of it she'd had raging sore muscles for weeks.

Even after two months of regular riding at White Oak, it still felt good to sit and do nothing for a while in the evening. After taking dinner at the main house with Coretha, William and Audrey, she usually shared a nightcap with them before going back to the groundkeeper's cottage with Joy. William and Audrey had excused themselves earlier while Kate lingered, reluctant to face the short but wet walk back to her lodgings. She watched her little girl playing with blocks on the hearthrug. Meatball snoozed nearby, equally reluctant to leave the cozy warmth.

Coretha's knitting needles clicked in a steady rhythm. Kate relaxed in her chair by the fire, sipping two fingers of bourbon, the nightly ritual oddly soothing, bringing back memories of drinking Scotch straight from the bottle with Greg.

No matter where she was, this was the time of day Kate felt closest to him. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his touch, a warm ripple against her skin. Could see him surrounded by the men, that look in his eye when he said, "I have a plan" before launching the squadron on some unlikely scheme that defied both rules of physics and the Marine Corp Manual. Could see him later, when it was just the two of them alone together, a very different look.

"My grandson, Danny, is finally home from the war," Coretha announced. If she hoped to catch Kate off guard, it worked.

Kate snapped back to reality and went on red alert. She'd heard all about Daniel Harris, who fought on Guadalcanal, got hit by a mortar round and nearly lost a leg. After recovering, he'd refused a medical discharge and served on desk duty for the remainder of his enlistment. He'd been honorably discharged and now had come back to live in Cedar Creek, working as a bookkeeper at the feed mill. Born and raised around Thoroughbreds, he planned to help his father with the horses as much as he physically could.

"I spoke with him on the telephone this afternoon," Coretha said. "He asked about you."

"That's nice." Kate carefully kept her voice neutral. She doubted very much that Danny had asked about her, given that they'd never met, but she imagined Miss Coretha had told Danny all about her.

Joy knocked her blocks over and giggled. Meatball poked them with his nose and she patted him, mumbling an unintelligible string of words only the dog seemed to understand. At seven months, the little girl talked a blue streak although neither Kate nor anyone else had any idea what she was saying. That didn't matter. She usually got whatever she wanted by merit of flashing that dimpled smile. Just like your papa, Kate had thought more than once.

"I just can't wait for the two of you to meet," Coretha said. You have so much in common, beings as you spent time in the South Pacific, too."

Spent time. That was how the older woman classified Kate's Associated Press assignment on Vella La Cava. Kate wasn't about to pursue that line of thought. The woman was putting a roof over her head and food in her and Joy's mouths. Kate figured Coretha must not think she was a complete tramp or she wouldn't be serving her up to her grandson.

Kate sipped her bourbon and stared into the fire. Danny Harris was one more man she didn't want to meet. Since her arrival at White Oak, Coretha Harris had paraded every eligible bachelor within 50 miles past Kate for her inspection. Kate's complete indifference to them hadn't stopped the old woman from her determination to find her a husband. Single women Kate's age needed to be married. Single women Kate's age with a baby needed to be married yesterday.

"He's coming to dinner after church on Sunday," Coretha said, needles clicking contentedly. "It will be nice for the two of you to get to know each other."

Kate made a noncommittal noise. Coretha blew out a sigh.

"Katie, your little girl needs a daddy."

"My little girl has a daddy," Kate said quietly.

"You don't know – "

"You're right. I don't know. And until I do know, I'll wait."

That night, curled under the warm quilts with Joy snug in her crib nearby, Kate wondered if she was waiting for something that would never come.

 **XXX**

 _ **Spring 1945: Somewhere in Japan**_

 _They moved him. Again. This time to an actual prison camp, a place called Omori, near Tokyo. One of the other prisoners said this was a step up. Now they had official POW status and the slow wheels of bureaucracy could start churning to let American officials know they were alive. If the guards didn't decide to just shoot the whole lot of them in the meantime and be done with it._

 _It was hard to tell exactly what was happening in the war, but from what he'd managed to glean from the guards' conversations, the Japanese empire was being slowly crushed under the heel of the sleeping giant it had awoken on Dec. 7, 1941._

 _He thought of her constantly. Where was she? What was she doing? Would he ever see her again? Would he ever see their baby?_

 **XXX**

 **March 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

Daniel Harris was tall and lanky, with light brown hair, dark brown eyes and an easy smile. He spoke with a soft Kentucky drawl and Kate liked him immediately, in spite of his grandmother's obvious intention to have them married by Christmas. What made her like him even more was that he obviously wasn't interested in marrying her.

After a Sunday dinner full of awkward conversation, during which the elder woman reminded them about how much they had in common, Danny put his napkin on the table and turned to Kate.

"It's a beautiful afternoon, would you like to go riding with me?" His face was a study in we-need-to-get-out-of-here.

"That sounds wonderful." Kate breathed a sigh of relief. She'd been dreading an afternoon of sitting in the parlor with Danny under Coretha's and Audrey's watchful eyes. "I'll just run home and change and meet you at the barn in 10 minutes? Lizzie, can you watch Joy for me?"

Thirteen-year-old Lizzie Murray, one of the ever-present Murray clan whose numbers served as cook, housekeeper, maid, butler, gardener, grooms and stable hands at White Oak, lit up at the prospect.

"I'd love to, Miss Kate."

"Then it's settled." Danny rose. Kate nodded in affirmation and the two of them nearly collided in their haste to leave the dining room.

She gratefully traded her dress for boots, breeches and a quilted vest over a sweater. The March sunshine was bright but the breeze was cool. Danny met her in front of the barn, leading Possum, a dapple gray heavy hunter with a sweet disposition and a gait like a rocking chair, and Apparition, a rangy, dark bay Thoroughbred colt William Harris had recently bought off the track. Possum was an easy ride. Apparition was what Kate called a work in progress. She occasionally called him other things, too, but she liked the horse's bold, headstrong temperament.

She and Danny rode in companionable silence before reining the horses to a halt under the cottonwood trees near the river. The branches were starting to leaf out, a soft blush of green against the fading brown and gray of winter.

"Look, Kate," Danny said, letting the reins go slack and turning the saddle. "I can tell your heart's not in this thing and I've got to be honest, mine isn't either."

"What gave it away?" Kate laughed, relieved at his honesty. "Your grandmother has been trying to marry me off since I got here. I've been to more hunt balls and church socials than you can shake a stick at. You're her latest . . . victim."

Danny slid off Possum's back and took a few awkward limping steps. Kate tactfully looked the other way. She kicked her feet out of Apparition's stirrups and dropped to the ground. They walked, leading the horses. Shafts of pale spring sunlight cut through the branches.

"Gran told me all about your little girl," Danny said, "and um . . . that you weren't . . . um . . . you're not . . .," he stuttered, clearly embarrassed by what he was trying not to say.

"That I got pregnant while I was working for the Associated Press in the Solomons and Joy's daddy and I weren't married and he's missing and no one knows if he's even alive?" Her voice was matter-of-fact. There was something about Danny that made him comfortable to talk to. Like a brother. Like one of the Black Sheep.

"Yeah." He sounded relieved. "Gran has it in her head that we'd be perfect for each other but Kate – " he paused. There was something in his voice that made her look at him sharply. "I thought, I hoped, maybe . . ." he looked uncomfortable. She stopped. Apparition nudged her in the middle of the back, shoving her forward.

"Damn pushy beast," she said to the horse before turning back to Danny. "What?"

"I wanted to meet you because I hoped you could help me find someone." His words tumbled over themselves. "Someone who served in the Solomons, I think you might have known her."

Kate laughed. There had been thousands of female personnel who served there. She started to say as much when she recognized the look on his face, the familiarity of pain and loss. And love.

"What was her name?" she asked softly.

"Laura. If she ever told me her last name, I didn't remember it." Once he got started, the words poured out in a torrent. "She was a nurse on the hospital ship at Guadalcanal where I was treated after the Imperial Japanese Army nearly blew my leg off. I was out of my mind at first but I remember her. I was only there for a few weeks but we . . . we spent a lot of time together. She used to spend her time off sitting with me or helping me walk.

"They were trying to discharge me when she was transferred to a hospital in a front area and I never saw her again. I tried to find her but I didn't even know her last name and things were such a mess there, you remember what it was like." He stopped. Possum waited patiently. "Kate, do you believe two people can fall in love and not know it?"

Kate let her gaze drift over the fields **.** She remembered her heart catching in her throat as she looked into the blue flame of Greg's eyes that first night. Had she fallen in love with him at that moment, whether she knew it or not? Her heart wrenched painfully.

"Yes, I do," Kate said firmly, snapping back to the present. "People can fall in love at first sight but sometimes it takes them awhile to figure it out. Do you know where Laura was stationed after the hospital ship?"

"That's why I wanted to talk to you about it – I think she was transferred to the hospital on Vella La Cava."

Kate's memory flashed to standing on a footstool in Dee's quarters at the hospital, her friend hemming a borrowed skirt while a blonde nurse coached her for her pending impersonation of a Naval lieutenant.

Laura's words that night echoed in her head, "Here's your backstory - you served on a hospital ship at Guadalcanal before being reassigned to La Cava."

Kate grinned.

"Describe her."

"Blonde hair, blue eyes, about your height. Almost exactly your height. I know because I leaned on her arm while I was learning to walk again."

"Was she from Iowa?"

"Yes, some little place called – "

"Morning Sun!" Kate exclaimed. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh Danny, we have to talk."

They remounted and let the horses carry them through the cool spring afternoon. Kate told him about her assignment with VMF 214, about meeting Laura through Dee, about Laura loaning her a bathing suit, high heeled pumps to match the cocktail dress Greg gave her and - blushing with unaccustomed self-consciousness - the lingerie that went with it. She realized Danny was blushing, too. His eyes glowed as Kate told him about borrowing Laura's uniform and masquerading as Lieutenant Halvorson several times on Espritos. She didn't elaborate on all of those details.

"I can find her, I know I can." She reached across the gap between the horses and took Danny's hand. "She and Dee both left for Espritos before –" she faltered, then raised her chin, "- before 214 was disbanded and I came back to the States. Dee's on Pearl now, I can write to her and see what she knows. It hasn't been that long. Laura might still be there. If not, Dee will know where to find her."

"Would you? I would be forever grateful. She was so . . . I never told her . . ." his voice trailed off. "I never told her a lot of things."

Kate recognized the loss etched in his eyes. She knew it was a reflection of her own.

"I could just kiss you for this, Katie," Danny said. "As a friend," he added hastily.

"Your grandma would just love that. She's probably sitting on the roof of the house with field glasses right this minute, watching us."

Danny burst out laughing. He leaned over and pulled Kate into a loose embrace. He did kiss her – on the cheek.

"I've got an idea," Kate said, pulling back. "How about we fly cover for each other until – " she paused, swallowing hard, and looked up into his brown eyes, "- until I find Greg and you find Laura. If your grandmother thinks we're . . . courting . . .," she rolled her eyes at the word, "she'll stop trying to match us up with other people. You haven't been back long enough to see her in action but trust me. She wants great-grandchildren and she wants them now."

It was very late that afternoon when they got back to the stable. Coretha Harris was watching from her rocking chair on the front porch as they walked the horses up the long lane to the house. She smiled contentedly. They made a lovely couple, her handsome grandson and that pretty little writer. Wedding bells would be ringing by Christmas. And the girl was a proven breeder, there were sure to be plenty of great-grandbabies.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Once in a lifetime**

 **May 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

Kate thrived on her photo assignments for _Blood Horse_ , spent a lot of time in the saddle at White Oak and threw her heart into raising Joy. At 10 months old, the little girl lived up to her name, her smoke blue eyes and dimpled smile charming everyone who crossed her path. She was outgoing, fearless and took a dim view of any activity that involved sitting still. Unless it was on a horse.

Joy had squealed with glee the first time one of the grooms lifted her onto the saddle in front of Kate on quiet, steady Possum. After that, Kate made sure Joy got to ride with her at every possible chance. Lizzie Murray brought her to the barn in the late afternoons when Kate was finishing training client horses. Their quiet rides around the schooling arena were a highlight of both their days. Joy's vocabulary now included a variety of animals' names as well as the word "fast" after the day Kate had cued the gray gelding into his rocking chair canter and they'd flown around the arena to their mutual delight.

"You are so much like him," Kate said, kissing the top of Joy's dark curls as she kept an arm securely around her waist. "You'd probably like flying, too."

Kate and Danny kept up a very proper charade of a very proper courtship. When Coretha hinted about an engagement announcement, they smiled and exchanged a look and switched the subject as quickly as possible. Riding provided a wonderful excuse for them to talk away from prying eyes. Since Danny rode under the guise of strengthening his injured leg, no one thought twice about it.

Kate thought she was close to finding Laura. Dee wrote to say Laura had taken a transfer back to the States after serving on Pearl for about six months. She promised to make inquiries.

Of Greg, there was no news. Kate wrote endlessly to Colonel Lard and General Moore. Lard never replied. Moore did, but he had little to say. Kate knew the man was in the middle of a war and had more to do than focus on finding a single missing pilot who everyone thought was dead but she kept writing anyway. If Greg was a POW, the Japanese weren't talking. If he weren't . . . she refused to think about it.

She had framed her favorite photographs from La Cava and hung them over her desk in the cottage. She'd framed Anderson's photo of her and Greg and set it on her bedside table. Every time she looked at it, she wondered where her life was headed. He was her once in a lifetime. She didn't care that she was only 23. There would never be another man who even came close.

They'd never talked about what might happen after the war, only what might happen the next day. Serving on a front area base didn't lend itself to conversations about a future with a cozy little house and a white picket fence. She snorted. As if she could see either of them in that situation. Yet she had always felt their futures were like threads in a tapestry, woven together as part of a larger pattern that distance and time could not fray.

He was on her mind and in her dreams every night. His smile. His presence as he entered a room. The sound of her name on his lips in their most intimate moments. She could smell the scent of his skin, the taste of him on her tongue. More than once she'd woken, crying out as her body ached with need, only to find her fingers tangled in the sheets, her bed empty except for a memory.

Tilly Murray, matriarch of the Murray clan and head housekeeper for both the main house and the cottage, had seen Anderson's photo one day while she was cleaning Kate's bedroom. Studying it, she'd looked at Kate and chuckled.

"Don't you worry, honey," she said, "a man who looks at his woman like that, he gonna ride through hell to get back to her."

 **XXX**

 **July 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

Kate's latest project was Satin Doll, a chestnut filly with three white socks and an attitude. In spite of an immaculate pedigree, she had proven so irascible on the track that her owner had finally followed his trainer's advice and sold her. Kate didn't know what had possessed William Harris to buy the creature. It seemed her entire purpose in life was to dislodge anyone who tried to ride her for longer than 10 minutes. He'd managed to find a potential buyer, though, if Kate could just get the filly to accept the idea that a rider on her back did not herald the coming of the apocalypse.

Carefully out of the interested party's earshot, Kate called her Satan, but she'd been riding her almost daily for the last month and she hadn't come out of the saddle for four days in a row now, which was a new record. Kate actually looked forward to riding the half-ton of red dynamite. It required such absolute focus that there was no room for anything else and her mind could escape, at least temporarily, from the aching sense of loss that was her constant companion.

The shadows of a mid-summer evening were lengthening when 10-year-old Michael Murray vaulted over the arena fence, a piece of paper fluttering in his hand.

"Miss Kate! Telegram come for you from a Mr. Gutterman!"

Satin bounced sideways, snorting and taking advantage of the sudden interruption to put on airs. Kate reined in the filly, carefully keeping her balance. Her butt still ached from being tossed last week. She leaned down and took the paper.

Her eyes took in the first three words before scalding tears blurred her vision.

"Found him. POW."

He was alive.

Her heart caught in her throat. She couldn't breathe. She felt like she might shatter into a million iridescent crystals, like sunshine sparkling through rain. She wiped her eyes fiercely. He was alive! Beneath her, Satin pranced sideways as if echoing her euphoria. Or, more likely, trying to take advantage of a distracted rider. Kate shifted her balance and focused on the rest of the message. There wasn't much.

"Near Tokyo. Red Cross working on it. Sarah sends her love. Jim."

Kate had no idea what "Red Cross working on it" meant but it had to be good. They knew where he was. He would come home. Her heart was beating double-time as she carefully re-folded the telegram. She sat very still, fingers clenched on the reins, trembling, treasuring the elation as it soared through her. Finally . . . after all this time . . .

Satin danced in place and Kate was suddenly aware of Michael, still standing there.

"You all right, Miss Kate?"

"Yes," she said and swiped at her eyes again, doubting the boy believed her with tears rolling down her face. "It's good news. Very good news. Is Danny in the barn?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Would you send him out here, please?"

The youngster raced away, setting off another volley of skittering dance steps from Satin.

On the porch of the main house, enjoying the warm evening from her rocking chair, Coretha Harris had been watching Kate ride the chestnut filly. The girl stuck on that little red hellion like she was glued in the saddle. Coretha wondered how she'd gotten so lucky to make such a match for her grandson.

She smiled contentedly as Danny entered the arena, watched as Kate swung down into his arms. Even at this distance, she could see the girl's face was alight with happiness. Danny's expression mirrored her joy and he kissed her on the forehead before embracing her.

On the forehead?

Coretha frowned. As much time as they'd been spending together, she expected the two young people to be quite beyond that by now. After all, Kate had clearly done more than be kissed on the forehead to get her little girl. Ah, well, she expected they'd be announcing their engagement any day now, with a wedding by the holidays and word of her first great-grandbaby soon to follow.

 **XXX**

After discussing it with Danny, Kate decided not to tell anyone the news. It was too soon. There were still too many uncertainties. Kate had no idea how long it would be before Greg was released. The war in Europe had ended two and a half months ago but the fight against Japan seemed determined to drag on with no end in sight.

She had no idea what would happen once it ended. Would he try to find her? Or after this much time would he think she'd presumed him dead like the War Department had and gone on with her life, leaving him to do the same?

She sat down at her typewriter and wrote to Casey.

 **XXX**

 **Aug. 15, 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

Joy celebrated her first birthday the week after the bombing of Nagasaki **.** All three generations of the Harris family insisted on throwing a birthday party, complete with cake baked with carefully rationed sugar.

Kate, Danny, Coretha, William, Audrey and at least half a dozen Murrays sang "Happy Birthday" while Joy stuck her fingers in the frosting. News of Japan's surrender came over the wireless while they were eating. The war was over.

Kate leaned against the columns of the big house that night after supper, looking up as the first stars sprinkled an indigo sky. Tiny night creatures chirped and buzzed in the twilight.

"It's over," she whispered. "Where are you?"

 **XXX**

 **Mid-September 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

Kate had taken to haunting the mailbox at the end of the lane and after a month of agonized waiting, a reply came from Casey. She ripped open the envelope while the dust from the postal carrier's truck still hung in the air. Joy and Meatball were inspecting a bug in the grass as her trembling fingers unfolded the letter. It was dated two weeks earlier.

" _Katie – Greg was released from the Omori prison camp on Aug. 29. All I know is the Marines and Navy took the men out and they were transferred onto a hospital ship named The Benevolence. Greg was headed for the Naval Air Station at Alameda, Calif., then he'll go on to Washington. General Moore just left to meet him in Washington. I sent a letter with Moore to give to Greg, telling him where to find you. The War Department has a tight hold on him right so I don't know how long it will take. Don't go anywhere. Casey P.S. Dee sends her love."_

Don't go anywhere? Casey had a masterful grasp of the obvious, Kate thought as the autumn sun warmed her shoulders. She wasn't going anyplace. God, she hated waiting.

 **XXX**

Three days after that, Kate opened the mailbox to discover a thick envelope addressed to Danny Harris. The return address on the envelope read: L. Halvorson, 473 West Chestnut St., Springfield, Illinois.

Kate whooped. If Laura was going to tell Danny she wasn't interested in seeing him, it would hardly take as many sheets of paper as were obviously stuffed into the envelope. She took the letter to the main house, where Danny was going over accounts with his father in the farm office. Swallowing her elation, she quietly set it at his elbow, winked and left the room.

That evening at supper, all of the elder Harris' were baffled by Danny's sudden announcement that he was taking a trip to Springfield. He said he needed to visit a friend from the war and wasn't sure how long he'd be gone.

 **XXX**

 **October 1, 1945: Washington, D.C.**

Lieutenant Colonel Greg Boyington sat at a crystal and china covered table in a high-end Washington, D.C., restaurant. Waiters delivered heaping plates of food and kept his whisky glass full. Seated across from him, Brigadier General Thomas Moore was elaborating on plans for making a victory bond tour. An attractive woman in a red cocktail dress at the adjoining table kept giving him coy looks. He wondered how soon he could get the hell out of there. Alone.

He'd been back in the United States for three weeks, been promoted practically before he stepped off the ship and while he wasn't arguing with clean uniforms and regular meals, the bureaucracy of the War Department was already gnawing at him.

Once they'd hauled him out of Japan, the mental and medical evaluations had begun. After the head-shrinkers and sawbones decided he was of sound mind and body, the intelligence debriefings had started. Then there were endless ceremonies, banquets and parades. It was enough to drive a man to drink.

More than once he'd been ready to take off in the middle of the night and go . . . where? The war was over. The Black Sheep were scattered to the wind. And Kate? He'd never stopped thinking about her. She was the glowing spot in his heart that had gotten him through the last 20 months. He didn't have a clue where she was and they wouldn't leave him alone long enough to start looking for her.

It probably didn't matter, he told himself. She must have thought he was dead. God knows everyone else had. The Japanese had kept him a secret until the final days of the war. He imagined she'd shed her tears and moved on with her life. He couldn't blame her. He'd pretty much abandoned her at a very vulnerable time, although it had been through no fault of his own.

She had the baby to think of. How could a single mother provide for herself and a baby? Surely she had married by now. They'd never talked about the future. They'd never talked about a lot of things. Her words before that final mission still rang in his head. "I'll be waiting for you." She expected him to be gone four hours. It had been nearly two years. What kind of girl waited that long for a beat up fighter pilot who everybody thought was dead?

"Don't worry about writing the speeches, we'll have a publicity agent do that," Moore was saying. "You'll just need to read them and let the people see an honest-to-God war hero. We'll meet with the agent tomorrow morning to go over your itinerary. Here's his card." He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket. "Oh, here, I almost forgot to give you this." Producing a battered envelope, he handed it to Greg.

"Lieutenant Casey asked me to make sure you got this, says it's important. Good man, Casey. He made things happen on Espritos that I didn't think were possible. Never lacked for good Scotch while he was there, either."

Greg took the envelope. The writing on the front pulled him back through time to Vella La Cava, to the endless handwritten forms and signatures Larry Casey had processed for him. The paper looked like it had been either been caught in a rain storm or baptized in Scotch on its 5,000 mile journey. Possibly both. He opened it. The letter was dated three weeks ago.

" _Greg – Kate waited for you."_

The words jolted through him like lightning from a clear blue sky. Moore's voice faded to background noise. The bustle of the restaurant dimmed. All he could see was black ink on white paper, strokes of typewriter keys that held his future in their balance.

" _She never stopped believing you were alive. She damn near drove Lard crazy and I think Moore was ready to go find you personally, just to get her off his back._

" _She's living at a place called White Oak Farm in Kentucky. It's off Route 27 near Cedar Creek, south of Lexington. She's writing for a racing mag and doing some horse training for a stable there. The phone number is –"_ The ink blurred into an unintelligible smudge, courtesy of rain or alcohol. Damnit. He could get on the phone and try to get an operator to find the number.

Or he could just go there. Kentucky wasn't that far. If he caught a train tonight he could be there tomorrow afternoon.

She had waited for him. She had _waited_ for him. What had he ever done to deserve her?

"Greg. Greg?" He was aware Moore had stopped talking and was studying his face. "Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Never better, General." He stood, folded the letter and tucked it in his pocket. Tossing a handful of bills on the table to cover the meal, he said, "It's been good seeing you again. I'm leaving for Kentucky now."

"Kentucky? What the - ? Greg, wait! What about the victory bond tour?" Moore called out, half rising from his seat. "You're supposed to be at the White House on Tuesday for a ceremony with President Truman."

"Tell Harry I'll catch up with him later." Greg tossed a salute and walked out.

 **XXX**

As the train rolled through the dark countryside of central Virginia, he could see her in his mind's eye. The memories glowed from constant polishing – the look on her face when he interrupted her while she was writing. The way she could out-drink half of his squadron. The morning she'd beaten the absolute crap out of a replacement pilot with an attitude problem. He remembered standing there, watching, while she flattened Lieutenant Alan McNeil in the dirt of the air strip, remembered thinking that sleeping with her would either kill him or be incredible. It hadn't. And it was.

He wanted her to still be everything she had been. He didn't want her to have changed but he didn't think she could still be that same girl he'd loved on La Cava, the girl who was probably the world's worst poker player but could ignite the air between them with a glance. There was a baby to think about now.

She was a once in a lifetime love. He'd never find another one like her. Hell, he hadn't been looking for her when she walked off that transport and into his life in the first place. There were so many things he should have said when there'd been time. He always thought they'd have tomorrow. Until they hadn't. Why the hell hadn't he said them?

He'd make damn sure he said them now.

 **XXX**

 **October 2, 1945: White Oak Farm, Kentucky**

The trees on the hillsides were ablaze with color, glowing like tongues of scarlet and copper flame in the late afternoon sun. A breeze tossed burnished leaves across the ground like so much confetti. The nights were colder now, frost lay in a silver web over the fields in the morning but afternoons still glowed with warmth.

Kate treasured the late day rides in the Indian summer weather. On horseback, she could almost forget the questions that gnawed at her heart. Almost. Where was he? Was he all right? Had Moore given him Casey's letter? Did he know where to find her? The questions threatened to suffocate her with their endless uncertainty.

The sun was just starting to sink toward the hills as she rode Tuxedo Junction, a blood bay who showed great promise as a fox hunter in spite of a mediocre track career. He was her current favorite project, a mild-tempered creature who followed her around like a dog when given the chance. Satin Doll had been sold but was still at the barn. Her new buyer was coming to pick her up in a few days. God only knew why the man wanted her, Kate thought, but to each his own.

The reins were carving sweat off Tuxedo's withers as she circled around the arena at a canter, enjoying the horse's smooth power. Lizzie appeared at the gate, bringing Joy for her late afternoon ride. The little girl was kitted out in miniature riding breeches and a sweater, sewn by Tilly, who believed a lady should always dress appropriately for the occasion, even if she was only a year old. Joy broke into a dimpled smile when she saw Kate.

Lizzie handed her up and Kate snuggled her neatly in front of her on the hunt seat saddle.

"Pony!" Joy said enthusiastically. "Go! Fast!" Tiny feet thumped as she kicked her legs, which were practically sticking straight out.

"Yes, we're going. Don't kick. We'll go fast in a little bit. Keep your heels down. There. Like that. Sit up straight. Good girl."

Kate turned Tuxedo off the rail and set him at a sedate walk. She let the little girl's fingers grip the reins, her own hands covering them.

"Here, silly, like this."

They'd gone one circle around the arena and Kate had put Tuxedo into a slow canter, much to Joy's delight, when a slight figure climbed the fence. Nel Murray, one of the older girls of the endless Murray clan, was waving, excited and breathless. Kate slowed Tuxedo to a walk and stopped.

"Hi, Nel, what's up?"

"Miss Kate, there was a man at the house, asking for you. Tilly sent him out to the barn. I overheard and thought you'd want to know." Nel glanced toward the far end of the arena where Kate could just barely see a man walking up the lane through the trees, taking the long way from the house to the barn.

Kate sighed. It was probably Satin Doll's buyer, come early. The man was so excited about the filly he'd nearly driven her crazy with phone calls. It would be just like him to show up three days before he was expected.

"Did he give his name?" Kate shifted in the saddle, reluctant to shorten her time with Joy. Maybe Danny could handle this.

"No, ma'am. But oh, Miss Kate," Nel hugged her sweater to her chest in a mock swoon, "I never seen such blue eyes other than your little girl's."

Kate's head jerked up. She looked across the arena where the man was approaching, backlit by the setting sun. His face was in shadows, impossible to see. Then Meatball flew out of the barn, barking his fool head off, and he turned toward the sound of the barking dog.

Recognition slammed into Kate. She'd seen it a thousand times in real life, a million times in her dreams – the set of his shoulders, the tip of his head as he turned toward her. She could hear his voice. "Let's go, Cameron, I'm not getting any younger."

It was Greg.

"Take Joy." Kate scooped the child off the saddle and tossed her to Nel, who caught her neatly.

Adrenaline surged through her, and reining Tuxedo away from the fence, she flew him across the arena. Her heart was in her throat, thundering in rhythm with the big horse's hooves.

Tuxedo skidded to a halt at the fence. Kate was frozen in the saddle. She wasn't breathing, her fingers clenched on the reins. The dizzying rush of emotion was almost paralyzing in its intensity. She looked down into the face she'd been dreaming of for nearly two years.

"Cameron."

One word. Her name on his lips.

Her heart was too big for her chest. Wordlessly, she kicked her left foot out of the stirrup and flung her right leg over Tuxedo's withers. Her boots skimmed the top rail of the arena fence and then his arms were around her, crushing her. She was sobbing with elation as she buried her face against his neck.

"I knew you weren't dead," she choked. "I knew you'd come back."

"Katie." His voice was raw, his arms around her so tightly she could barely breathe. She was gasping when he gripped her shoulders and pushed her back far enough to meet her eyes.

He looked like he had that last morning on La Cava, only this time rays of late afternoon sun held him their glow. It was that same ruggedly handsome face, a little leaner, a little more careworn now, but the heat of his eyes and curve of his mouth sent electricity racing through her. Time twisted. It was just yesterday she'd stood on the flight line, telling him she'd be waiting.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pinned her against the rail, his mouth claiming hers. The heat of his kiss seared like fire. She kissed him harder, letting him posses her as two years' worth of pain and fear burned away. She tangled her fingers in his hair, never wanting to let go.

The kiss slowed and Kate reluctantly pulled back, resting her hands on his shoulders. Neither of them spoke. They just stood there, washed in the autumn sunshine, leaves tumbling around them. Tuxedo reached over the fence and nibbled at Kate's hair. Without taking her eyes off Greg, she reached back and rescued her pony tail.

She reached up and touched his cheek, hardly daring to believe he was real.

"I love you," she said softly. "I never stopped loving you."

He stroked a hand along her face, cradling her cheek. "I love you, too, Katie. You're what kept me alive."

She kissed him again, slower this time. Her heart was bursting. His hands were around her waist and she lost herself in the sensation of his touch. There was just him, alive and warm in her arms. Nothing else mattered.

Something bumped her leg. She ignored it, her senses filled only with the taste and scent of him. The bump came again, more persistent. She looked down.

"Meatball!"

"Meatball?" Greg looked at the dog as if seeing him for the first time, then dropped to a knee as the terrier threw himself in his arms. He looked up at her. "You brought him home?"

"The boys insisted," Kate said. Slowly, Greg rose.

"Everything else you had going on, and you brought my dog back with you?"

He kissed her again, Meatball leaping up and bouncing off them at random.

Her fingers brushed the insignia on his collar.

"Lieutenant colonel? They must have been really glad to get you back."

"Not nearly as glad as I am to be back, sweetheart."

Kate slowly became aware of Nel Murray standing nearby, holding Joy, a look of scandalized fascination on her face. Everyone knew Miss Kate was going to marry Mr. Danny, it was just a matter of time.

Kate reluctantly jerked herself back to reality.

"Nel, please find Danny and ask him to come out here." She was breathless. "I don't care what he's doing. Tell him it's important." The girl turned toward the barn when Kate stopped her. "Wait. Then run up to the house and tell Tilly to set another place for supper." Her voice was fierce with elation. "And tell Miss Coretha Joy's daddy has come back from the war."

Nel nodded dumbly, still staring.

"And Nel?" Kate stepped toward her. "Give me Joy."

Kate scooped the child onto her hip and turned to Greg. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry. He stood without moving, his eyes locked on the little girl in her arms. Joy looked at him with solemn wide-eyed curiosity, one hand fisted in Kate's sweater.

"She's yours." Kate said quietly. "Ours."

When he didn't speak, she added, "You knew, didn't you?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "I knew. She's . . . Katie, she's beautiful . . . you had to do this all alone?"

"I remember you being there at the beginning," Kate said dryly. "Sarah was with me when she was born. I'm sure she'll be delighted to tell you exactly what I said."

Tuxedo stuck his head over the fence and nuzzled Joy's sweater. She squealed happily, tiny hands reaching out for the big gelding's muzzle.

"Here." Kate handed her to Greg. Joy gazed at him with rapt attention as he settled her, a little awkwardly, in his arms.

"Elizabeth Joyce, this is your papa," Kate said firmly.

"Pony?" Joy turned her head from Greg to Tuxedo, looking suspicious.

"Papa."

"Pony," Joy said, this time with determination. "Go!"

"She has her father's one-track mind," Kate said. "Trust me, if you're around her longer than 10 minutes, you'll know exactly what I mean."

Greg wrapped his free arm around Kate and pulled her close.

"Sweetheart, I plan on being around a lot longer than 10 minutes."

 **XXX**

On the front porch in her rocking chair, Coretha Harris frowned. She'd seen the man walk up the lane, a military man for sure, no question from his uniform and bearing. She'd watched as Kate had raced across the arena and thrown herself off the horse into his arms.

There'd been a great deal of kissing and not on the forehead either. _Those_ were the kind of kisses that lead to great-grandbabies.

Then Danny had come out of the barn and there'd been a lot of hand shaking and head shaking and now everyone was smiling. The man was holding Kate's little girl and even a blind person could see they looked just like each other. Well now. This was a fine kettle of fish.

 **XXX**

Supper that evening was one for the record books, Kate thought. She couldn't keep her eyes off Greg and nearly spilled the potatoes in her lap. Joy's reaction was much the same but no one held a toddler accountable for spilled potatoes. Under the table, Meatball was enjoying the fruits of their distraction.

Seated next to Coretha, Greg had turned on the charm and the older woman hadn't stood a chance. Danny just happened to mention that Laura Halvorson would be coming for an extended visit next month. William and Audrey looked like spectators at a tennis match, trying to keep up with the reckless flow of conversation as it vaulted from the South Pacific to Pennsylvania to Japan to Washington to Illinois and back to Kentucky.

After Lizzie had cleared the dessert plates, Kate rose. She thanked the Harris' for the meal and told them Greg would be staying with her at the cottage tonight. Her cool gray stare dared Coretha to challenge the propriety of it.

Kate turned to Lizzie.

"Would you take Joy tonight?" she asked quietly. The little girl often stayed overnight at the boisterous Murray house on the estate when Kate had to travel for her job or on the occasion when she got home so late the child had already fallen asleep amidst the collection of Murray children. As much as she wanted to have their daughter near both of them, Kate knew she and Greg needed time tonight to talk without being interrupted.

"We'd love to have her, Miss Kate."

"Good. Come with us to get her things." Kate lifted Joy out of her high chair. Greg took her out of her arms and Joy went willingly to him, fascinated at this new person in her life.

As Kate turned to follow him from the room, Coretha caught her by the wrist. The older woman winked. "Oh Katie, I would have waited for that, too."

 **XXX**

In the cottage, Lizzie gathered the little girl's pajamas, a change of clothes and her stuffed cloth dog.

"I'm getting cleaned up," Kate announced. She was still in boots and breeches, having gone straight from the barn to supper, which was often her norm. "I smell like a horse."

"I hadn't noticed," Greg said. She thought that was entirely possible. He was still holding Joy and the mutual admiration society had clearly been called into session. Joy had been so enchanted by him, she hadn't even fussed about having her ride cut short that afternoon.

"There's your mama." Greg pointed to one of the photos over Kate's desk. Joy's eyes followed his finger to a picture of Kate kneeling in front of a Corsair, Meatball at her side, and she broke into a huge smile.

"Meeble," she announced proudly. "Meeble!"

"Meatball," Kate translated. "Those two are inseparable. Will you be all right with her while I take a shower?"

Greg nodded. "She's only a year old. How much trouble can she be?"

"She's half Boyington and named after two generations of Camerons, what do you think?" Kate said. "If you run into trouble, Lizzie's in the kitchen."

It was one of the fastest showers she'd taken in her life, second only to the first time she'd used the Black Sheep's outdoor facilities. She pulled on the faded flannel shirt she slept in, slipped into a robe and, barefoot, returned to the living room.

Greg was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, Joy on his lap, her eyes wide while he told her a story. The fire Lizzie had laid earlier that day was crackling softly.

Kate paused in the doorway, emotion threatening to overwhelm her. His return had banished the aching spot in her heart that had been her constant, unwanted companion since that awful morning in 1944. Now, watching him with his daughter was beyond comprehension. He probably didn't know much more about babies than she had last August but it looked like he was making a fine job of it. Kate thought the little girl was looking at him much like she had when they first met, with a kind of incredulous, amazed disbelief. Greg said something Kate couldn't hear. Joy giggled. Kate stepped into the room.

"And when your mama found the rat in her bed, everyone on the base heard her yelling. She said, well, I bet you've heard her say it, too, it's one of her favorite – "

 _Oh bloody fucking hell,_ Kate thought.

"Do _not_ tell that child anything you don't want to hear back!" she warned, trying to look severe. Greg laughed. Joy looked at her mother and giggled again.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Kate narrowed her eyes at both of them. "You should have heard what she said at supper a few nights ago. I guess she was out by the arena the last time Satan – Satin – tossed me off." Headlights cut across the room's windows. "Lizzie! Your dad's here to drive you home."

The girl appeared, tucking Joy's clothes into a small traveling satchel. Greg rose, kissed his daughter softly on the top of her head and with obvious reluctance, handed her into Lizzie's arms. Joy never took her eyes off him as Lizzie carried her outside to the waiting truck.

"She is exactly like you," he said.

Kate rolled her eyes.

"I don't think she's anything like me – she's headstrong, won't take no for an answer, God forbid you tell her she can't do something . . . " She realized he was laughing too.

"Uh-huh." He pulled her into his arms. She pressed her face against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, never wanting to let go.

"Nightcap?" he asked.

She turned and picked up the bottle of whisky from her desk.

"I only have one glass," she said apologetically, pouring and handing him the crystal tumbler.

"Do you always drink by yourself, Cameron?"

"No," she whispered. "You were always here with me."

She curled against him on the couch by the fire. She told him about the days on La Cava after his disappearance, about living with Don's parents in Philly, working for the Enquirer, Joy's birth and moving to Kentucky. About the endless letters that flew back and forth across the South Pacific between her, Jim, Casey, Dee and General Moore. He told her a little about the last 20 months. She didn't pry. He would tell her what he wanted her to know when he was ready.

The wireless was playing softly and music drifted on the firelight.

" _Again, this couldn't happen again,_

 _This is that once in a lifetime,_

 _This is the thrill divine . . ."_

Greg laughed softly.

"Remember this song?"

Kate closed her eyes as the memory of that day in the Sheep Pen flooded back. That day Lard had come this close to finding out who she really was and yanking her out of 214.

" _What's more, this never happened before,_

 _Though I have prayed for a lifetime,_

 _That such as you would suddenly be mine . . ."_

"Like it was yesterday." She shook her head. "I remember singing this with Anderson in the dark room while Lard was coming unglued on you outside. I didn't even know what was going on until I heard him yelling. And Andrew Butler . . . so sure if he couldn't have me, you wouldn't either. If you and the boys hadn't pulled that off I'd have been gone on the next transport, but Lard never knew, not until that day I walked into his office after you were . . . . gone."

" _Mine to hold as I'm holding you now and yet never so near,_

 _Mine to hold when the now and the here disappear . . ."_

She lifted his hand, kissed his knuckles.

"That was a classic Black Sheep stunt. Who knew Anderson studied acting in college? And a spectacular fight. You and Butler took the door clean off the hinges. I would have joined in if Jim and TJ hadn't stopped me."

He leaned forward and kissed her, slow and deep.

" _We'll have this moment forever,_

 _But never, never again . . ."_

The song ended, the last few notes trickling into the darkness.

"Come with me." She stood and took his hand. After the firelit atmosphere of the living room, the overhead electric light in the bedroom was too harsh. She lit the kerosene hurricane lantern that sat atop the tall dresser and let the glow wrap the room in shadows.

He took her chin, tipping her face toward the light. She stood with her hands lightly on his chest as he studied her, brushing her hair back, tracing his fingers over her cheeks and down her neck.

"What are you doing?"

"It's impossible," he said, not answering her. "You haven't changed at all."

"You haven't seen the stretch marks," she said lightly.

"They would be beautiful, too."

He slid his hands under the soft flannel of her shirt, caressing the curve of her hip, and arched an eyebrow when he discovered she was completely nude underneath.

"Lord, Kate, if I'd known this we wouldn't have spent so much time downstairs." He slid the robe off, unbuttoned the shirt and slid it over her shoulders, lowering his head to cover her her breasts with kisses.

She undressed him slowly, relishing the heat of his skin under her hands and letting her lips brush down his jaw to his neck. He was leaner than before but her fingers sang with memory as they stroked the hard planes of muscle across his chest and shoulders.

"What's this?" Her fingers traced a scar on his temple.

"Courtesy of the Japanese Imperial Navy."

He ran a hand down her outer thigh, felt her wince. She turned toward the light, and he studied the horseshoe-shaped bruise cast in fading purple just below one hip.

"I got tossed off a horse last week. Then the little hell bitch stepped on me."

"I can't leave you alone for a minute."

"Clearly not."

He tugged her shirt completely off, then walked her backwards until she toppled onto the bed, drawing him down on top of her.

She surrendered to his touch as he explored her body, lingering when he felt her breath catch. Time fell away. Her mind drifted back to the first time they'd made love and the certainty she had been made for him alone. She pressed herself against him as his hand cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples until they were hard and aching, then slid low across her belly to stroke the slick heat between her thighs. The dreams that had kept her awake on so many long nights ignited into searing reality.

The climax rolled over her, driving her until she cried out his name, digging her hands into the bedding as she bucked against his fingers. When the last ripple of pleasure ebbed, she realized her entire body was trembling. She drew a shaky breath and rolled into his embrace, burying her face in his chest. She breathed in the hot clean scent of him, wanting more.

"I can tell you missed me." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"That's just the beginning. It's been a long time." She reached down to stroke the hard length of him, feeling arousal ripple through her again as he pressed against her hand.

"Promise?" He closed his mouth over hers and rolled her onto her back.

All the pain and uncertainty that had lingered over the last 20 months vanished, driven out by their mutual need. He took her with all the power she remembered, that unarguable intensity he brought to everything he did. It _had_ been a long time, and she winced under the demand of his penetration. He heard her gasp and slowed as her body remembered his, opened to him.

Then neither of them held back. He wasn't rough but he wasn't gentle, either. She answered him with feelings that had been too long denied and his power filled her, driving her past the point of conscious thought.

"Look at me, Kate," he whispered. "Open your eyes and look at me."

She obeyed, losing herself in their hot blue depths and the sheer joy of taking him with her as she came. The pleasure was unbearable, an exquisite agony that left her unable to breathe. She arched up hard against him, her legs driving him home as sensation exploded. His response was immediate, two final, powerful thrusts that took him over the edge to join her.

 **XXX**

Greg pulled the quilt up over both of them. Kate shoved it back off.

"For the love of God, woman, are you trying to freeze me to death?"

She laughed.

"I grew up in North Dakota, remember? This isn't cold."

"This is cold." He jerked the quilt back up. Kate acquiesced and stuck one leg out. With her head nestled on his chest, she twined the fingers of her left hand with his right.

"So, what are you going to do next?"

"Sweetheart, you're gonna have to give me a few minutes."

She shifted and fixed him with a glare.

"That's not what I meant." She paused. "Where will you go now? Are you staying in the Corps?"

"It would appear that way. They've promoted me and this time I didn't have to call Admiral Nimitz to make it happen."

"So you'll be leaving soon? To go on this victory bond tour?"

Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft hiss of flame in the lantern. He rolled toward her on an elbow and brushed her hair back from her face. His eyes were intense in the soft light.

He kissed her lightly. "Do you trust me, Cameron?"

Kate's mind spun back in time. He'd asked her that once, literally years ago, before she got into that airplane with him.

"Yes." Her voice was as breathless as it had been on that warm South Pacific evening.

"I love you." He laid a finger over her lips when she started to reply. "I don't have any idea where I'm going next, or what I'll be doing, but I want you to be there with me. With our daughter. As my wife." He cupped her face with his hand. "Kate, will you marry me?"

Her mouth went dry and her heart leaped as every cell in her body exploded in euphoria. Life with him would never be traditional, probably never be peaceful or anything resembling normal. But they would be together, all three of them – and Meatball - and that was all that mattered.

"I . . . we . . . yes," she whispered. "Yes!"

"I never get tired of hearing you say that." His mouth closed over hers.

 **November 1945: Espritos Marcos, Former Allied Rear Command**

The war had officially been over for two months and the base on Espritos Marcos was being slowly dismantled. Colonel Thomas Lard was in a state. His office was in disarray. His staff was in chaos. His secretary, oddly, was the only one on the duty roster who seemed to have her head in the game.

She set a cup of coffee and a stack of newsprint on his desk like nothing else was going on.

"Good morning, sir. They're coming to pack up your office furniture at 1100 hours so you'll want to finish boxing things up soon but I thought you'd want to read this first." She pointed to the New York Times. A bold headline read "Top Marine Corps Ace Honored By President Truman."

Lard shook the paper open.

" _Yesterday in a White House ceremony, Lieutenant Colonel Gregory Boyington of the United States Marine Corps was awarded the Medal of Honor by President Harry Truman. He was recognized for an outstanding air combat career that began with the American Volunteer Group in China and ended as commanding officer of VMF 214, the famous Black Sheep Squadron in the Solomon Islands during World War II. Under his command, the 214 had more air victories than any Marine fighter squadron operating in the Pacific._

 _His creative and often unorthodox leadership style, combined with daring and courageous persistence, resulted in creating a fighter group that excelled against frequently overwhelming odds._

 _Lieutenant Colonel Boyington was accompanied to the White House ceremony by his new bride, noted former Associated Press war correspondent Katherine "K.C." Cameron. The couple was wed earlier this month, after his release by the Empire of Japan following 20 months as a prisoner of war._

 _He and Miss Cameron met in 1943, when USMC Colonel Thomas Lard was instrumental in assigning her to provide coverage of VMF 214 on the squadron's home base on Vella La Cava. In a highly unusual field assignment, Miss Cameron was stationed on the base for six months, bringing stories and photographs of the boys fighting for America's freedom to the folks at home."_

" _K.C. Cameron provided exceptional coverage of the Black Sheep at a time when the war effort needed good news reaching the home front," said Brigadier General Thomas Moore, who was present at the Rose Garden ceremony._

Lard put down the paper and stared into space. _That_ sure as hell hadn't been what he intended when he'd sent K.C. Cameron there.

He snorted. He remembered finally meeting Cameron on her last day in the South Pacific. He'd met her several times before then, but hadn't known who she was. Lord, that girl had been a piece of work. Drop-dead gorgeous with a no-holds-barred attitude and absolutely the last person he'd have ever thought would get involved with that rogue Marine.

Lard rummaged through the disaster area of his office until he found a bottle of Scotch and a glass. It wasn't the best stuff. There hadn't been any truly exceptional Scotch in this office since the 214 had been taken down. He poured a shot into a glass anyway and lifted it in a toast.

"Damnit, Boyington, you played me again," he said, sipping as he looked out the window at the palm trees rustling in the wind. "Here's to you and Kate Cameron. The two of you were made for each other."

 _ **THE END**_


End file.
